


Hazard Pay

by ant5b



Series: A Good Landing [2]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Double-O-Duck, Family Feels, For the most part, M/M, Original Darkwing canon, Prequel to A Good Landing, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: When they first met, Drake didn't think very highly of Launchpad McQuack.





	Hazard Pay

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of older fic of mine! That fic was deleted, and this is the new canon for the "A Good Landing" series.  
> This is also a prequel though, so you don't need to have read the other fic in this series to have a handle on what's going on.

It all started because some S.H.U.S.H. bigwigs were cheapskates.

Drake, while not an agent, did work with them as a consultant and was on their payroll. However, the _sidekicks_ of consultants were not.

J. Gander Hooter was apologetic, but even as director of S.H.U.S.H. his hands were tied when it came to those with deeper pockets and greater influence.

Now Drake’s paycheck wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but he still vividly remembered the dingy airplane hangar he’d crashed into not so long ago, its state of obvious disrepair at odds with the pristine planes within. So despite Launchpad’s eagerness to be his sidekick, Drake thought that the pilot would be more bothered by the lack of pay from the agency they so regularly now worked with.

But if anything he was almost _relieved_.

This on its own was enough to make Drake suspicious, but there was more to it than that. In reality, there was more to _Launchpad_ that that.

Drake felt guilty admitting it now, but he hadn’t thought much of Launchpad upon first meeting him. Their introduction was happenstance, discovering his first fan a well-received boost to his ego when in the midst of a flagging investigation. Launchpad had only been useful up until his first tremendous crash.

But then he kept _following_ Drake, with a dogged persistence he’d first taken as obsessive, childish fanaticism. And Launchpad did admire him, then as he did now, but he’d pursued Drake because he’d known he could help. Because he’d wanted to help, even after Drake repeatedly brushed him off and belittled him.

Launchpad was serious about being Drake’s sidekick. Far from simply fulfilling a fanboy’s dream, Launchpad wanted to help _him_  because he believed in what Drake was trying to do.

But after Taurus Bulba was confirmed dead, after the adoption papers were signed and they’d moved onto Avian Way, Drake worried that Launchpad wouldn’t be able to keep up with him. He was a big guy, and his mechanical skills were invaluable, but could he hold his own against the criminal ilk Drake had trained for years in order to face? Could he face _supervillains?_

Instead of voicing his concerns, Drake took matters into his own hands. And for the first few weeks, Drake kept Launchpad benched, insisting he stay in the Thunderquack or with the Ratcatcher.

Launchpad never argued with him, only ever asking, “Are you sure about this, DW?”

Drake would bluster and posture and announce some variation of, “Sure I’m sure! Besides, I need you to be ready in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

And for the first month, this worked out fine,.

After Bulba’s death, a lot of higher profile criminals went underground out of fear that they’d be next on the chopping block. At this point, Darkwing himself was more mist than myth. Kingpins and mob bosses didn't dare say his name because the very notion of it was still considered ridiculous; fodder for back alley rumors and the excuses of bagmen who claimed they’d been snuck up on by a monster with black wings. All anyone knew was that Taurus Bulba was dead, and no one had been held responsible. This bred a unique sort of terror into the criminals Drake faced, one which he took advantage of with relish.

He liked his criminals afraid.

But Drake got sloppy. He always got sloppy when he let his ego and his vanity steer his actions, and you’d think he’d _learn_ after what happened with Bulba.

There were a couple F.O.W.L. Eggmen trying to steal a power converter. No Steelbeak, and no other F.O.W.L. agents. It should’ve been a walk in the park, but he’d underestimated their numbers. Drake only realized this when he heard the click of a gun’s hammer locking into place behind him, echoing in his ears louder than the actual gunshot would’ve.

Horror flooded his veins like as ice as he turned around, too slow to stop the Eggman that must’ve found a hiding spot when he first appeared. His suit was made of a synthetic polymer that protected him from most forms of attack, but it didn’t cover his _whole body_. If he moved quick enough he could maybe catch the bullet in the shoulder, alleviate the damage any way he could.

It turned out that he needn’t of worried.

Drake turned around to find that Launchpad had the Eggman pinned under one knee and immobilized by twisting his arms painfully behind his back. The gun was on the ground beside them, a few feet away.

Launchpad beamed up at him, apparently unconcerned with the cursing, struggling Eggman beneath him. “You good, DW?” he asked.

 

From then on Launchpad stopped staying behind, and effectively became Darkwing Duck’s shadow. He took care of whatever enemies Drake couldn’t, whether because he was facing off against a much greater threat or because he didn’t see them coming, like the Eggman. And it felt _right_ _._ Drake never thought he’d enjoy working with someone else, _trusting_ someone else, but he and Launchpad were in-tune on a level he’d wouldn’t have thought possible, for all that their disparities in personality.

Even their costumes reflected this. Purples for Darkwing, because once he targeted someone, he wanted them to see him coming. But Launchpad elected for an outfit in all black, and his foes never once knew what hit them.

Launchpad made the title of Darkwing’s Shadow his own, becoming something of a mystery to the criminals they faced on a more regular basis. As the Shadow he was Darkwing’s silent, hulking enforcer, who never appeared in the papers and never left Darkwing’s side.

He was an absolutely invaluable ally and friend.

But what Drake agonized over in those early weeks was the realization that Launchpad had _training._ Official, expert combat and martial arts training, the kind that took years to learn. Once Drake knew Launchpad could hold his own, they began sparring on a regular basis and were more than evenly matched.

The first time Launchpad had offered to spar with him, Drake hadn’t yet discerned the extent of Launchpad’s training. He’d laughed and admitted that he’d prefer something a bit more challenging than a punching bag.

His sidekick had knocked him flat on his back within ten seconds, something Gosalyn still recounted with inordinate glee.

“Where did you learn how to _do_ that?” Drake had sputtered as Launchpad peeled him off the mat.

Launchpad had shrugged with his usual neutral smile. “Here and there,” he’d replied.

After this, Drake began appreciating Launchpad more, no longer taking his loyalty and friendship so for granted. He also started to pay more attention to Launchpad.

But he focused on more than his sidekick’s abysmal eating habits and bizarre love-hate relationship with horror movies. Instead, he focused on the inconsistencies, the traits (like the training) that didn’t add up to the goofy, crash-happy whole.

In this way, it dawned on Drake that Launchpad hated going to S.H.U.S.H. Central Command. And he meant _hated_ it. Launchpad would keep his hands clenched at his sides, bristled at anyone who even brushed past him, and make worse jokes than usual the entire time they were there.

And Drake asked about it, of course he did, but he was tactless about it. He still wasn't used to caring about another person, was still getting accustomed to being a _father_ , but he cared about Launchpad. More than he’d cared about anyone or anything since he started being Darkwing full time (save Gosalyn, who’d saved him from himself). He _worried_ about Launchpad. And that rattled him so much that instead of being patient, of being kind, he demanded, “LP, what’s _wrong_ with you?”

Drake had always found Launchpad easy to read, but in that moment his sidekick’s face went completely blank, any distinguishable emotion hidden behind a smiling mask. But then he chuckled, and Drake watched as he slotted back into the persona of the affable sidekick.

“Sorry, DW, guess I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night!”

But Drake was left with a feeling of wrongness, like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. And this alarmed him more than anything because Launchpad shouldn’t _know_ how to mask his emotions so well, shouldn’t be pasting on a smile for Drake’s benefit.

 

Drake could fill a book with all the things Launchpad shouldn’t know, shouldn’t be able to do.

How could he be so incredibly clumsy around the house and then sweep an enemy’s feet out from under them, knocking them out with a single, solid punch before they hit the ground? How did he know how to build engines from scratch with such incredibly delicacy and precision? Where did he learn to react with such ferocity and accuracy when they were on the job, holding his own against the supervillains Drake trained his entire life to face? How did he know _J.Gander?_

Drake knew he didn’t imagine the spark of recognition in the old goose’s face when he introduced his sidekick, for all that J.Gander played it off and shook Launchpad’s hand like they were strangers. He wasn’t blind to the eyes that would follow Launchpad whenever they visited  Central Command, and caught the whispers about someone named Double-O-Duck _(He was S.H.U.S.H. before S.H.U.S.H. even existed)_ that would rise in his wake.

Drake didn't know how to ask about it, not without coming off as callous, and maybe he was just a little bit afraid to know the truth. Maybe he didn't want the shatter the illusion of the carefree and confident pilot, the image of the cheerful everyman that Launchpad seemed to cultivate. And maybe that was selfish of him. Maybe Launchpad deserved someone who would pry, who wanted to know the truth of who he was.

But Drake had always been selfish.    

It had been selfish of him to start caring about Gosalyn as much as he did. Selfish of him to imagine waking her up for school, or being roped into buying hockey gear and skateboards. It was selfish of him to imagine his life with her as a permanent fixture, when his life had a chance of ending quite abruptly.

It was selfish of him to fall in love with Launchpad when he was too afraid to ask why he kept so many secrets.

For years he’d succeeded in channeling his selfishness into donning the cape and cowl of Darkwing Duck, devoting his time and energy to an ideal rather than the kind of life a man might lead, and letting Drake Mallard quietly fade into obscurity.

But then Gosalyn came barreling into his life like a cannonball, uprooting all he’d thought he’d known about himself, all he thought he’d wanted. And Launchpad wasn’t far behind, with a steadfast loyalty Drake had never known before, and a heart so big he feared breaking it in his carelessness.

Launchpad always seemed to know when Drake was starting to feel a little overwhelmed. It could happen for any reason—Gosalyn calling him Dad, Launchpad serving dinner—or for no reason at all. And without fail, Launchpad would wrap his arm around his shoulders, fitting Drake snug against his side. Or, when drastic action was needed, Launchpad would cup the back of his head, bury his fingers in his feathers, and lean forward until their foreheads touched. He wouldn’t say a word, only holding Drake close until his breathing evened out and everything stopped being too much.

 

They’d realized they had feeling for each other on a night like any other.

Their lives consisted of twenty minute bursts of chaos interspersed with long moments of quiet. This had been one of those moments, both of them retiring to Darkwing Tower after a fairly eventful evening. Drake nearly had three fingers broken by one of Quackerjack’s wind-up teeth, and definitely had a bruised rib or two. Launchpad always somehow ended up the worse of the two, with a bruised jaw, broken pinkie, and sprained ankle.

Launchpad was holding an ice pack against his face as Drake splinted his finger for him, remaining quiet as Drake complained about how one of Bushroot’s maple trees got away with half of the jewelry store’s stolen inventory.

He finished splinting Launchpad’s finger, complaining all the while, when Launchpad lowered the ice pack. He turned his busted hand around so he was cupping Drake’s bandaged one from beneath, before covering Drake’s hand with his free one.

Drake’s heart flopped over oddly in his chest. He was abruptly, ridiculously certain that he was dreaming, and if it weren’t for the ache in his ribs, he might’ve believed it.

Wind whistled through the high arched ceiling of Darkwing Tower. The city glimmered beneath them like a tranquil sea, masking the unrest that lurked in its depths.

As Drake looked up at Launchpad, his breath caught in his throat. His partner’s face (because Launchpad had been more than a sidekick for some time now) was partially shadowed, and his expression tender in a way Drake had only ever seen glimpses of before.

Launchpad lifted one hand and cradled Drake’s jaw, and Drake couldn’t help but jerk forward, exhaling sharply.

Neither of them spoke as they leaned forward, as Drake wrapped an arm around Launchpad’s neck. There were no explosions, no fanfare or dramatics. It was quiet and it was soft, and it left Drake’s heart galloping in his chest. It didn’t matter than Launchpad kept his past hidden, that he had secrets. All that mattered was that he was there, in Drake’s arms, kissing him back.

Launchpad was the first to pull away, with a wince and a small sound of pain, and a hand on his bruised jaw.

“LP!” Drake sputtered, scrabbling for the ice pack. “You’ve gotta keep this on, or your cheek is going to swell up to the size of a grapefruit!”

Launchpad smiled, ebullient in a way that made Drake’s heart skip. “It was worth the risk,” he replied.

Drake tried to give Launchpad a stern look, though it was ruined by a smile he couldn’t contain as he squeezed Launchpad’s undamaged hand.

 

Considering the weight of Launchpad’s secrets, it was only a matter of time before one of them finally broke. And surprisingly, it wasn’t Drake.

He and Launchpad had been partners for 3 years, and dating for two of those. They were watching some slasher flick Gosalyn had picked out, though she’d long since fallen asleep on Launchpad’s lap. Drake wasn’t far behind, leaning on Launchpad’s shoulder with a blanket thrown over his legs. It was a comfortable, quiet evening, a rarity considering their line of work.

Drake had been mindlessly watching the fake blood and gore on screen, only half awake, when Launchpad spoke up quietly above him.

“So, I’ve been thinking of applying for a job at that sporting goods place,” he said. Though he didn’t look away from the horror movie, oddly enough.

Drake groaned. “You _would_ willingly work in retail.”

Launchpad chuckled beneath him, and Drake already knew what he was going to say before the words even began to leave his beak.

“Just looking for ways to keep busy, DW!”

Such had been the case with Launchpad for the last 3 years, where somehow a life of nightly crime fighting wasn’t enough to occupy his time. Whereas Drake would often the sleep the day away after a busy night, Launchpad would be good as new after four or five hours, and from the very beginning had dedicated himself to finding something productive to do with the remaining time.

Though he could sometimes content himself with running errands and conducting maintenance on the Thunderquack and Ratcatcher, he seemed to get antsy with too much free time. The latest in a series of day jobs had been as a mechanic in a locally owned garage, and Launchpad had loved getting to work on old cars rather than their usual fare of more advanced tech. However, that job had come to an unfortunate end when Launchpad discovered that it was actually a front for a chop shop, and with Drake's help had busted the man in charge. 

A few weeks had passed since then, and Drake was relieved his boyfriend had found something new. One could only watch Launchpad organize his button collection and wax the Thunderquack so many times before it became a problem.

The horror movie was still playing, and Launchpad had long since fallen silent, but something didn’t sit right with Drake. For one, Launchpad was still _watching_ the movie, which he’d virtually begged Gosalyn not to put on in the first place, albeit with the thousand yard stare of someone with other things on their mind.

“I’m sure that store’ll hire you, LP,” Drake whispered, so as to not wake Gosalyn. “They’d be idiots not to.”

Launchpad blinked, seemingly returning to the present, if his wince at some guy getting decapitated on screen was any indication.

“Uh...yeah, thanks, babe,” Launchpad replied, sounding distracted.

“Is that not what you’re worried about?” Drake asked.

One of the characters in the movie let out a blood curdling scream as the killer encroached on them, doing little to try and run away or defend themselves. It was loud enough that Gosalyn grumbled in her sleep, threatening to drag her into wakefulness.

Rather than answer Drake, Launchpad carefully gathered Gosalyn in his arms and stood up from the couch.

Not one to be deterred, Drake followed him out of the living room, turning off the TV as he went. He followed Launchpad to Gosalyn’s room in silence, pulling back her blankets so Launchpad could lay her in bed.

But once Gosalyn was tucked in, Launchpad took a step back, looking incredibly lost. Despite having the upper hand on size and build, Launchpad looked very young in that moment with his mussed hair and wide eyes.

He sat down at the foot of Gosalyn’s bed, falling back like his knees had failed him.

Drake couldn’t remember feeling this worried for his partner since the time he’d been knocked unconscious after getting caught in one of Ammonia Pine’s bath bombs. He carefully sat down beside Launchpad, not wanting to crowd him in spite of the anxiety thrumming throughout his body. “Launchpad, what’s—” he started to say.

“I’m sorry,” Launchpad said. His head was bowed and his hands hung limply in his lap.

“LP, what’re you apologizing for?” Drake asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking down. “I just..” Launchpad clenched his eyes shut, scrubbing at them frustratedly with the heels of both palms.

Drake laid a hand on his arm. “Launchpad,” he tried again.

“I _don’t_ —” Launchpad said a little too loudly, quickly cutting himself off. He looked back over his shoulder to make sure Gosalyn was still asleep, before sighing. He still wouldn’t look at Drake. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Drake stayed quiet.

“It’s probably too late to be saying this now, but...I don’t want to keep lying to you, Drake.”

Drake didn’t say anything for a long moment. He listened to Gosalyn’s snoring, as loud as the night he’d first sung her their lullaby.

“Do you mean the S.H.U.S.H. stuff? Or your mysterious past in general?” he asked, a little pointedly.

Launchpad huffed a little laugh, the most cynical sound Drake had ever heard from him. “Both,” he said.

Drake shrugged. “Well I wouldn’t call that _lying_ per ser. More like a sin of omission.”

“Is there a difference?” Launchpad asked. His shoulders were hunched and his expression guarded, but he was looking back at Drake for the first time.

“Sure there is,” Drake replied easily. In the face of Launchpad’s guilt, it was almost easy to push aside the pressing need for answers that Drake had been stemming for the last several years. “Everyone has secrets, LP. You won’t be hearing _me_ talk about my high school years.”

Launchpad smiled, his expression betraying his gratitude. However, he was quick to sober. “I just want you to know, DW, that I wouldn’t keep anything from you that would put Gos in danger. You’re my family. And the second anything changes, I’ll tell you everything.”

Drake moved his hand down Launchpad’s arm, entwining their hands. “I believe you,” he said.  
  


The gig at the sporting goods place was a fine job, but Drake knew that there were better ways Launchpad could be occupying his time. For one thing, he knew that half the reason Launchpad applied for the job was so he could get a discount on all the hockey equipment, skateboards, and roller skates that Gosalyn had been asking for.

Launchpad ended up bouncing between jobs for several months, none of them fitting quite right. It didn’t help that with no college degree, the jobs he was limited to were often of the burger flipping variety, if that.

And Drake knew that as much as Launchpad claimed he didn’t mind the terrible jobs he got stuck with, that he just wanted something to keep him busy, he was actually feeling dissatisfied and maybe a little frustrated. But any job that could use Launchpad’s skills to their full potential were with the agency he very clearly wanted nothing to do with.  

Which was why Drake found it ironic that it was gossip around the S.H.U.S.H. water cooler that got Launchpad a better job. Or at least that was Drake’s guess when Launchpad received a strange phone call one day.

Though they all had cell phones, the Mallard-McQuack household still kept their landline around. It was a secure line for S.H.U.S.H. to contact them on in the event of an emergency, if all other modes of communication failed. Bizarrely, telemarketers could also contact them on it, and they were the source of all incoming calls so far.

So when the phone rang one Saturday afternoon, Drake didn’t think much of it when Gosalyn went over to answer it.

But instead of hanging up immediately after picking up, Gosalyn looked back over at them. “Pops,” she called over to Launchpad, “there’s some British lady asking for you.”

Drake and Launchpad were standing over by the stairs when the phone rang, the latter carrying a basket full of clean laundry. But before Gosalyn had even finished speaking, Launchpad was dropping the laundry basket, which nearly fell on Drake’s foot. He practically lept over the couch to get to the phone as quickly as possible.

“Thanks, Gos,” he said casually as Gosalyn handed him the phone with an incredulous expression. “Hey, Mrs. B!” he said, as cheerily as he would greet the mailman (whose name happened to be Tad).

Launchpad didn’t say much after that, and instead appeared to be listening intently to whoever was on the other line. He hung up after about two minutes, said that he had to go meet an old friend, and was out in the door in a matter of seconds after ruffling Gosalyn’s hair and kissing Drake goodbye.

He returned two hours later with pizza, disheveled and wired, but smiling brighter than Drake could remember seeing in recent memory. His hundred watt smile never dimmed as he ushered Drake and Gosalyn into the kitchen, amidst their protests and insisting that he tell them where he’d run off to.

As Launchpad pulled down plates and cups, he babbled about how an old friend of his had offered him a job as a chauffeur, though he only referred to her as “Mrs. B”. Drake didn’t feel bad about listening with only one ear as he served himself pizza, as most of Launchpad’s chatter consisting of the quality of the burgers at the restaurant he’d met his friend at. It wasn’t until he heard Launchpad say “she wants me to work for Scrooge McDuck” that Drake tuned back in, nearly choking on his pizza.

“I’m sorry, you’ll be driving _who_ around?” Drake squawked, pounding on his chest.

Gosalyn had frozen stock still, her slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. Of course she didn’t last long in that state, and soon she was dropping her pizza and slamming her hands onto the table in excitement.

“Are you serious?” she demanded, _“Scrooge McDuck?_ The richest duck in the _world?”_

“And this old friend of yours just happens to be his _housekeeper?”_ Drake asked, trying not to sound too skeptical.

He evidently failed, judging by the way Launchpad laughed in response. “You don’t have to worry about her yanking my chain, DW,” he said, “She’s the real deal! Mrs. B wants me to be Scrooge McDuck’s chauffeur.”

“You’re gonna work for the guy that used to go on all those super awesome adventures,” Gosalyn said delightedly, nearly vibrating in her seat. “Pops, you’ve _got_ to introduce me.”

“Well I’ve gotta _meet_ the guy first, Gos!”

“This job,” Drake said, carefully dipping his pizza in ranch. “What exactly will it be asking of you?”

“Nothing too crazy,” Launchpad assured him. “After all, Scrooge McDuck hasn’t gone on one of his adventures in years. I’ll be driving him to work at eight and back home at six, maybe even earlier.”

Gosalyn laughed around her own mouthful of pizza. “It’s not like he’s moving to another country! Right, Launchdad? You’re just gonna be working for a _really_ rich guy who’s _maybe_ interested in some lucrative business deals?”

“That settles it, you are _never_ accompanying Launchpad to work,” Drake said, pointing at his daughter. 

“DW, you know I’d never let anything get in the way of our real jobs,” Launchpad said, soft in his sincerity. “If you don’t want me to take this job, just say the word.”

Drake knew Launchpad wouldn’t believe him if he answered right away, so he ate his pizza in silence for a few moments.

He would never admit it to Launchpad, but he worried about him. Drake knew it was ridiculous, considering his skills and his enigmatic past, but in spite of all that he was good in a way few people were, in a way Drake knew he wasn’t. Despite whatever happened in Launchpad’s past, he was always eager to help; eager and _stubborn_. It was thanks to Launchpad that Drake had Gosalyn in his life, and that was a debt he’d never finish repaying.

But really, what harm could befall Launchpad as an old duck’s chauffeur that he wasn’t already prepared for? Even an old duck as infamous as Scrooge McDuck?

“The old man better be paying you well if you’ll be going all the way out to Duckburg,” Drake said snippily.

Launchpad’s smile and Gosalyn’s whoops did little to dampen the kernel of worry firmly embedded in his chest.

 

 

The whole reason Drake encouraged Launchpad to take the job was that it was supposed to be _safe_ , and Launchpad would be _happy_. They already had enough danger in their lives, for all that neither of them would ever give it up, and wrecking and repairing the limo he drove Scrooge McDuck around in every day was certainly a suitable distraction for a duck with too much energy and time on his hands.

Everyone knew that McDuck stopped adventuring years ago, for reasons that became less clear with time. All Launchpad had to do was drive him to and from work, which gave him plenty of time to catch up on sleep, and kept him out of danger when Drake wasn’t there. And for two years, it worked perfectly.

Kids everywhere grew up with Scrooge McDuck as a legend in their minds, tales of his exploits practically sewn into history itself. Launchpad was no exception, and for the first few months all he would do when he got home was gush about his new boss and all the strange artifacts in his manor. But as time went on Launchpad became more thoughtful, painting a picture of a man, not past his prime, but lonely and a little sad in his big empty house, only his housekeeper and her granddaughter for company. Though Launchpad didn’t talk about them much.

But despite any strangeness on part of Launchpad’s employer and his affiliates, his job continued as normal. It took two years for things to change, and Drake had no warning when they did.

Launchpad called Drake one evening, around the time he would’ve already been on his way home. Drake was cleaning up the living room, half listening to him joking about being a little late to dinner, when his thought process came to a grinding halt.

“I’m sorry, LP,” Drake said with forced calm, even as it felt like a stone had plunged to the pit of his stomach. “I could’ve sworn you just said you were going to _Atlantis_.”

To his credit, Launchpad sounded suitably guilty. “Yeah, Mr. McDee’s taking his nephews to find it in the Drake Barrier Reef, and they need me to pilot the sub. I didn’t even know he had any family, but the kids are all great! They remind me a little of Mr. McDee, which I thought was cute—”

Launchpad was rambling, something he only did around Drake, and only when he was nervous.

“Launchpad,” Drake said, interrupting him.

His husband immediately fell silent.

It had happened before, Launchpad’s job getting in the way of crime fighting. It had only been a matter of time, seeing as how he’d never stayed with one job for so long. Only, last time it had been because he’d needed to drive Scrooge to a museum opening in Spoonerville, not pilot a submarine in an insane bid to discover the ancient lost kingdom of Atlantis.

But all Drake asked was, “Is this gonna become a regular thing?”

Launchpad remained quiet.

“I...I don’t know, DW,” he replied. “I think it’s too soon to tell. But...Mr. McDee seems different. Good different, I think.”

Drake sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Okay. Okay, LP.”

He heard an unfamiliar Scottish brogue barking in the background, though hardly had to guess at who it belonged to. “Get a move on, McQuack!”

“Oh, I gotta go, DW! Love ya!”

“Love you.”

Drake stifled his anxieties and went on patrol that night, with only intermittent text messages from Launchpad. It wasn’t until the following afternoon that he received another call, this one from an unknown number. Launchpad was on the other end, but he sounded wrong, almost like he was drunk.

“Heyyyyy, DW, how was patrol?”

“ _Launchpad!_ Where are you, what happened?”

“We found it, the-the place...Atlas! But it was all wrong, y’know? Wrong side up.”

Drake’s stomach was twisting in knots, but he kept his voice level to avoid panicking Launchpad, or Gosalyn just down the hall, “LP, what’s wrong? It sounds like you’ve been drugged.”

“A little snake venom never hurt anyone!” Launchpad replied, like it was an inside joke.

“ _Snake—_!”

Launchpad coughed, and when he spoke again he sounded more like himself. “We’re still a couple...couple hours out, DW. Just wanted to let you know I was A-OK.”

Drake rubbed his forehead tiredly, but smiled all the same. “Thanks, LP. You’re not piloting the sub are you?”

“I was, but Mr. McDeeeee told me to have a ‘lie down’. He talks funny sometimes, it’s great. Oh, and he let me...bore…. _borrow_ his phone to call you!” Launchpad’s nearly shouted the end of his sentence, and then made a small sound of alarm. “Oops. He’s take-taking the phone back now.”

“Call me once you’re back!” Drake said quickly, feeling laughter of amusement and hysteria bubbling in his chest. But as Launchpad hung up, optimistic as ever despite being poisoned, Drake felt a shroud of dread and resignation settle over him.

One couldn’t stay alive in his business without trusting their gut. And he knew now with bone deep certainty that Atlantis was only the beginning.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic! Please let me know what you thought in the comments below!


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